Once Upon A December
by human28
Summary: During a mission in Russia, Natasha has an encounter with the Dowager Empress. Could it be? Could the Black Widow be the missing Tsarina? Clint sets out to investigate.
1. Chapter 1

AU: Anastasia/The Avengers Crossover.

A/N: This is my first Avengers fanfiction! I was listening to the song "Once Upon A December" (OST from Anastasia) and I just couldn't shake this idea from my head. Hope all of you will like it.

*I fucked with the timelines and took liberties with the characters to make the plot more believable. :D

* * *

**Part 1**

_Peterhof Palace_

_St. Petersburg, Russia_

_Mid-November_

Clint tugged at his collar irritably. He hated tuxedos. He didn't care that it was personally designed by Tony Stark's favorite tailor (some guy named George - Army or _whatever_). They were stuffy, restricted his movement, and made him look like a goddamned penguin. Unfortunately, it was a necessary evil. Situations sometimes called for him to be present on the ground and if he was on the ground, he needed to blend in. He sincerely hoped that tonight wasn't one of those nights. He cracked his neck as he settled into a more comfortable position. After scoping the palace the night before, he had found an unused balcony in the uppermost floor that gave him a perfect view of the grand ballroom.

He frowned at the sight of burn marks on the marble railing before remembering that this place had been engulfed in flames some twenty years ago. The fire had killed quite a number of the palace's residents. He shook his head. Death by fire was probably one of the most painful ways to die.

_"Do we have a visual?"_

His partner's voice filtered into the comm. link in his ear. He easily found her moving slowly through the crowd, captivating more than a few of the male guests. She was swathed in a plum-colored number that accentuated her figure. The gown might fit her like a glove but Clint knew that more than one weapon was concealed underneath that pretty exterior.

"Not yet." He responded. "I must say, you look good in purple, Romanoff."

_"Your fascination with the color never ceases to amaze me."_

"Hmm, I'm beginning to think you picked that dress just for me."

_"Your ego is inflated enough already."_

"So it _is_ for me!" He crowed. He grinned as she rolled her eyes. She began to make small talk with a woman in too much rouge, introducing herself as Anya. Clint allowed himself to relish in the sounds of her lilting Russian. She had been teaching him for quite some time and although he had no difficulty understanding the language, he still had trouble speaking it.

The entrance doors swung open to reveal a middle-aged man in an ill-fitted suit. He was alone. Several of the guests situated nearby greeted him respectfully. Clint scanned the area for any sign of suspicious movement. There weren't any. He didn't think there would be. His presence was welcomed in the palace after all. "Our target has joined the party. He's at your six."

_"Protection detail?"_

"None."

Natasha nodded subtly before excusing herself from the conversation she had been holding with a polite smile. She proceeded to stalk her prey. Clint fingered his bow in anticipation.

Gregori Efimovich, popularly known as Rasputin, was a controversial figure in Russian society. Despite being an advisor to the royal Romanov family (who were the hosts of tonight's festivities), there were rumours that he was only using them for political advancement. Monarchy may no longer exist in Russia but the Romanov dynasty still held quite an amount of political power. It helped that they were widely loved by the masses. Unbeknownst to the family, however, Rasputin was an underground human trafficking kingpin that had crossed SHIELD's radar several months ago. They had been tracking his activity since then and the Council subsequently placed him on the international threat list.

Clint wondered how the Romanovs would consider a man who looked like Voldemort's hairy twin trustworthy. Long black hair, long black beard, beady black eyes. "I think you should trade that knife for a shaver." He commented dryly.

_"We're not here to give him a makeover, Barton. He's heading for the staircase. Looks like we're taking this upstairs."_

"I'll meet you there."

Clint exhaled a sigh of relief. He'll be getting out of this monkey suit sooner than he expected. One man versus the Black Widow alone in an empty floor with no panicking stampeding crowds was going to be a walk in the park. He wouldn't even need to get his hands dirty. He'd just have to enjoy the show. He slung his bow across his chest and made his way towards the staircase. He passed ornate walls adorned by old paintings. There were landscapes, portraits, and what he suspected to be pictures of the royal family. He may not be an art expert (that was more of Steve's thing) but he could appreciate them just the same. It was evident that they were all done by a talented hand.

"Which floor are you on?"

_"Fourth."_

He was almost at the staircase when a faint scream reverberated from below. He broke into a sprint, thundering down the carpeted marble steps with an arrow nocked and ready. An elderly woman with silver-grey hair done in an intricate style had both hands on her chest. She was pale as a sheet as she stared at the scene before her. He had loosed an arrow even before he reached the bottom of the stairs.

Rasputin fell to the ground with a loud thud, the serrated knife falling from his grip. Clint was horrified to see blood on the blade. Natasha's blood.

In a blink of an eye, Clint was catching Natasha as she doubled over in pain. He gently lowered her onto the floor. Her back was bleeding profusely. He cursed under his breath. "We need med evac_ now_." He hissed into his comm. as he ripped out a piece of fabric from his pant leg.

_"Dispatching a team now. Status?"_

Maria Hill's voice was asking from the other end.

"Target has been eliminated. Widow has a stab wound in the back. Might've punctured a lung." He glanced at the woman on his left. She had not moved an inch. She seemed to be petrified. "And we have one witness."

_"Be there in 5 minutes."_

Fury was going to give them hell for this, especially since the witness was looking exactly like the Dowager Empress Marie.

"Natasha?" Clint whispered, refocusing on his partner. Her eyes were fluttering shut. Blood continued to seep through the makeshift pressure bandage he had applied onto her back. "Stay with me, Tash."

SHIELD agents poured into the hallway just as she lost consciousness. He released her to the medical team, quickly relaying her status. Rasputin's corpse was slipped into a body bag and carried out to the jet he knew was hovering outside. All this happened in under three minutes. Maria Hill suddenly appeared beside him. She looked pissed. "We'll talk about this later. I'll deal with the witness. Go."

Clint nodded brusquely.

He shot one last glance around the hallway wondering what the fuck had just happened. The Black Widow against one man was supposed to be child's play. He wasn't even supposed to get his hands dirty. But now they were covered in her blood. His tuxedo wasn't faring any better. He decided to shred the damned thing when he got the chance.

* * *

He was sitting by Natasha's bedside in the infirmary when he was called to the Director's office. She had yet to wake. Fortunately, the knife had missed the lung and the doctor guaranteed her a full recovery within the next few weeks. Until then, she was required complete bed rest. Although knowing Natasha, it would only take a few days before she got cabin fever and tried to escape.

Fury had a frown on his face when he walked in. Then again, Fury _always _had a frown on his face. Clint mentally prepared himself for a telling-off that seemed to be a staple in debriefings with the Avengers but never with the Barton-Romanoff duo. The Hawkeye-Black Widow tandem had an almost clean record. They _never_ fucked up. Which was why Clint was expecting a full-on rage-fest from the Director.

To his surprise, it never came.

"So, what happened out there?"

Like they were discussing last night's football game or something.

Clint shrugged. "I'm not really sure sir. Rasputin came in alone. Agent Romanoff followed him to the fourth floor where they apparently engaged in combat. While he might know basic self-defense, he should have been no match for the Black Widow."

"Then what the _fuck _happened!"

Ah. There's the rage-fest.

"I'm afraid only she can answer that question, sir."

Fury inhaled deeply. He flipped through a manila folder and tossed it towards him. The word _CLASSIFIED _was stamped on the cover. "I want you to go back to the palace and find out what the hell went wrong."

"Sir?" Clint was confused. Agents fucked up all the time but no one was ever sent _back _to figure out what went wrong. It was a waste of time and resources.

"You and I both know that the chances of Agent Romanoff telling _us _what went wrong are very slim. What do you know of Agent Romanoff's past?"

Clint knew a bit of Natasha's past but he wouldn't claim to know everything. He knew that her parents died in a fire when she was around six or seven. A man had reputably rescued her and introduced her to the Red Room. He knew that she defected and later worked as a contract killer, making a name for herself and ultimately landing on SHIELD's radar. The rest, as they say, is history.

But Clint didn't really care about the past. He preferred to stay in the present. And he would be lying if he said that he didn't enjoy peeling away all the layers that was Natasha Romanoff. The trust was there but it was nowhere near completion. There were still skeletons in each of their closets that weren't quite ready to see the light of day.

"Not much, sir."

Fury raised an eyebrow but didn't say anything. "We've had our suspicions before but -" He sighed and gestured for Clint to open the folder.

He made quick work of it. By the end of it, he couldn't help but blink owlishly for several long seconds. "This can't be true, right? I mean, they found the body. All evidence suggests that it was her."

"Yes. But we have to remember that this is the Red Room we're dealing with here. They're very efficient in covering their tracks."

"Then why not do a DNA test?"

Fury shot him one of those 'do-I-look-like-I'm-stupid' looks. "That was the first thing we did. It came back negative."

"Well, there you go." Clint spread his arms wide. "What more do you need?"

Fury fixed him with a steely gaze. "If you can recall, the Red Room injected her with a serum. It could have messed with the tests. What happened last night, was no coincidence. Agent Hill has already briefed the witness on the incident regarding Rasputin. She was apparently very grateful for your intervention and is open to meeting you. Deal with this, Agent Barton. And not a word to anyone. You're dismissed."

* * *

Walking through _Peterhof_ in plainclothes with no assassination on the itinerary should have left him feeling a lot more comfortable than before, yet Clint couldn't shake the uneasy feeling in his chest.

One of the maids, a plump woman by the name of Sophie, escorted him through the Royal Palace babbling energetically in rapid-fire French. It appeared that the Dowager Empress had lived in Paris during the restoration of their home in Russia. Clint resisted the urge to groan. He barely understood French. So he opted to just nod and smile at regular intervals.

They arrived at a cozy sitting room with walls lacquered in pale blues and yellows. The furniture was white and supremely elegant. A fireplace burned merrily in one corner. Soft music emanated from a tiny musicbox. It reminded him of a lullaby.

"May I present ze Dowager Empress Marie!" Sophie announced in heavily accented English.

"A pleasure to meet you, ma'am." Clint greeted politely. Inwardly, he cringed. Ma'am? He sounded like Steve. But he didn't really know what to call Empresses.

"Please, call me Marie." She responded in near-perfect English. "Take a seat, _Monsieur _Barton. Tea?"

"Just Clint, thanks." He said in turn as he took a seat opposite her. "And tea would be lovely."

She smiled as Sophie poured them a cup each. It smelled strongly of lemon. Clint toook a moment to analyze her. She must have been stunning once upon a time. She had all the features of an aristocratic face, thin lips, sharp cheekbones and an even sharper gaze. "Your co-worker, Ms. Hill had informed me that you are here to check on my well-being?"

Clint felt a twinge of guilt even as he nodded. _Nope, just here to grill you on your dead granddaughter._

"I must thank you for removing that vile creature from our family. I always had my doubts about him but my son, Alexander, never listens."

Clint nodded again as his brain recalled the contents of the manila folder. Four sons, Nicholas, Michael, George, and Alexander. Only one had survived. Alexander and his family had been with Marie in Paris when the incident had occurred. She began small talk on her two grandsons who were apparently around Clint's age. She made no mention of the one he came to hear about.

Clint decided to just throw it out there. He didn't have all the time in the world. Natasha was going to wake up soon, probably _already_ was awake, and he can't go back without knowing the truth. "I apologize beforehand if this will bring back any painful memories, but I must ask about your youngest granddaughter."

"Ah." Marie's eyes turned distant. He vaguely noticed that they were almost the same color as Natasha's. "Your partner has told you then. I hope she is well?"

Clint shook his head slowly. "I'm afraid she hasn't told me anything. She's healing but she's still asleep."

Marie laughed daintily. "I must have been hallucinating in my fear. I called her by a different name."

Clint leaned forward in his seat. "What did you call her?"

A sad smile graced her features. "_Anastasia._"

* * *

Clint's mind was whirring as he followed Sophie down a familiar hallway. Their meeting hadn't been very informative. Marie herself had stated that Anastasia had perished in the fire. This was nothing but a simple case of mistaken identity. Yet that niggling feeling in his gut would just not _stop _bothering him.

How can it be a mistaken identity when Anastasia was only seven when she disappeared - _ahem_, when she _died_ and Natasha was a woman in her mid-twenties?

And there was the incident with Rasputin. Nothing swayed the Black Widow when she was on the hunt. What happened?

He therefore requested Sophie to kindly escort him to the area of last night's incident. He made some ruse about needing to check the crime scene and that it was standard protocol in their line of work. The Dowager Empress had expressed her regret at not being able to accompany them as she was too old to keep climbing up and down the stairs. She thanked him again and disappeared into her room, taking the still-playing musicbox with her, humming as she went.

They arrived at the fourth floor landing and Clint retraced Natasha's footsteps. He found himself face-to-face with a family portrait of the Romanovs. There were several girls with red hair but only one with eyes gleaming a familiar green. "Sophie? Who is this?" He pointed at the young girl.

"Zat is Anastasia. She 'ad been Marie's favorite."

Of course, it would be her.

"What happened to her?" Clint asked, even if he already knew.

"She died in ze fire," Sophie sighed. "But ze Empress would say otherwise."

_What? She never said otherwise!_ "Really? Why?" His heart began to beat a tad bit faster. He blamed it on the exhaustion. He still hadn't gotten any proper rest yet. Yes, that was it. He was exhausted.

Sophie shot him a curious gaze. "She didn't tell you? A young boy used to work here. I think 'e was one of ze cook's children. His name was Dmitri. He used to play with Anastasia all ze time."

Clint made a gesture for her to continue.

"Well, shortly after ze fire, Marie returned for ze funerals. Dmitri was present as well and he claimed that he 'ad helped young Anastasia escape but that they got separated in ze crowd. He tried to look for her but couldn't find her. It was almost as if she just - vanished into thin air. Poof!" Sophie shrugged with a dismissive wave. "It is a tall tale, I am sure. He was only what, 7 years old? But ze Dowager Empress believed him. She even offered a reward to anyone who could find her." Sophie laughed then. "You have no idea what a nightmare zat was, dealing with all ze fake Anastasias."

Clint nodded weakly. "Yeah, it must've been horrible. Well, thank you for all your help, Sophie, but I'm afraid I must leave. I still have business to attend to." Clint forced a smile on his face as she escorted him towards the exit. She kept blathering about French cuisine but he was no longer listening.

It was a good thing he decided to snag the Dowager's used tea cup before they left the sitting room.

He had hoped it wouldn't have to come to this but he was left with no other choice. Clint didn't give two shits about SHIELD's DNA test. They didn't have the kind of technology that he lived with. What was the point of being friends with a self-proclaimed genius if he didn't call in for favors (tuxedo not included) all the time?

As he made his way to the quinjet, he dialed the familiar number on his personal mobile. "Hey Stark? I need your help.

* * *

A/N: Review and let me know how it is! :D


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Thank you to the few that took their time to leave me a review! Very much appreciated!

* * *

**Part 2**

_Stark Tower_

_Manhattan, New York_

Natasha glared at her reflection on the bathroom mirror. Her hair was damp from her recent shower. Water droplets soaked the plain white shirt she was wearing (which belonged to Clint). And there were dark circles under her eyes. All in all, she looked like shit.

It had been a week since their mission in Russia. She had been given a leave of absence from active duty for a few weeks to recover (despite her insistence that she didn't need it), which meant she had to be kept under the watchful gaze of both Dr. Banner and Captain Rogers, both of whom would not hesitate to tie her to the bed if that was what it took in order for her to get some rest. But they didn't understand, she _couldn't_ sleep. And this time, it wasn't nightmares that scared her. It was dreams.

_Dancing bears_

_Painted wings_

_Things I almost remember_

There was marble flooring and red curtains, porcelain dolls and white dresses. There was the sound of tinkling laughter, like bells, followed by the sound of stockinged feet pounding across carpeted hallways. It reminded her of fairytales - the ones Thor adored watching during movie nights. He would always say that they reminded him of Asgard.

_And a song someone sings,_

_Once upon a December_

And there was that voice, soothing like a trickling river, singing what sounded like a lilting lullaby softly in her ear.

_Someone holds me safe and warm,_

_horses prance through a silver storm,_

_Figures dancing gracefully,_

_across my memory_

It caressed her, rocked her to sleep until her dreams were nothing but a swirl of color.

The dreams confused her to no end. They were polar opposites of what usually haunted her at night. She wondered if the medical team had given her some sort of sedative, a hallucinogen maybe? Because those dreams, they could not be her own. They were too - _innocent. _

The nightmares reappeared during her fifth night back at the Tower. They were nothing new, always revolving around the same things: fire and heat and burning walls, the choking sensation of being suffocated by smoke, and the whispered promises of a better life and a greater purpose.

Clint usually helped her through the bad nights, just like she helped him through his. But ever since the mission, he had been busy. This tweaked her suspicion that he was mad at her. She _knew _she fucked up. The only problem was, she didn't - _couldn't_ remember what went wrong. The last thing she could recall was Rasputin stabbing her in the back. _The ugly bastard. _

She lifted her shirt to look at her bandaged wound. It still ached whenever she did anything too strenous (apparently late night gym visits were not part of the doctor's orders - sorry, Bruce) but she was getting better every day. She was itching to get back on the field. If only to distract her from what ever the fuck was happening to her brain.

She wandered out into the common room. Steve was asleep on the couch, an open novel (_The Perks of Being A Wallflower)_ lying on his chest. She noticed that Mjolnir was no longer present on the balcony, which meant Thor must have already left for New Mexico. He had been wanting to visit Doctor Foster the second he set foot on Midgard.

Bored, Natasha headed down towards the lab where she caught sight of two figures hunched over something on the table. They looked up when she walked in. Both wore similarly panicked expressions.

"Natasha! What brings you here?" Bruce exclaimed cheerfully.

"Why do the two of you look like you've been caught doing something you shouldn't be doing?" She asked with a frown.

Tony scoffed. "What are you talking about? We were discussing gamma radiation and stretchy spandex shorts."

Bruce offered her an uncertain smile. "Do you want me to check your stab wound?"

"It's fine."

Natasha's eyes narrowed when she saw a teacup in the middle of the table. Along with it were a few cotton swabs and several chemicals that she was pretty certain were used in - "Are you doing a DNA test?"

"No!"

"Yes!"

Bruce and Tony engaged in a glaring contest. Natasha tapped her foot impatiently. Bruce cleared his throat before explaining. "Ah you see, Tony may or may not have impregnated another woman."

Tony's jaw dropped open. "What the _fuck_, Bruce? I thought we were science bros!"

"We _are_ Tony but we can't keep something like this from Natasha!" Bruce replied through gritted teeth.

Natasha arched an eyebrow. "You," she pointed at Bruce. "Are a horrible liar, and you -" she pointed at Tony. "Are a horrible actor."

They both fidgeted nervously.

"So are you guys going to tell me what's going on or do I have to force it out of you?"

They were saved from answering when Clint emerged into the lab wearing jeans and a leather jacket. It was pretty obvious that he was not 'busy' with any SHIELD missions. "Hey guys are you done with the - oh fuck." His eyes widened at the sight of her and he took a step backward. "How you feeling, Tash?"

"Clint." Natasha stated calmly. "Where the _hell _have you been?"

"I've been busy?" He tried.

"If looks could kill, you'd have been reduced to a pile of ash right now, Katniss." Tony piped up.

Clint threw his hands in the air in defeat. He looked at her pleadingly. "Give me five minutes with the guys and I'll tell you everything. I swear."

Natasha scowled and left, but not before she saw Tony clearly mouth the word '_positive_' to Clint. The archer turned white as a sheet. She had a bad feeling about this.

* * *

Natasha didn't need to turn around to know who had walked in. She'd recognize those featherlight footseps anywhere. She didn't move from her spot by her bedroom window. A slight drizzle had begun, the raindrops pitter-pattering across the glass panes softly. December was fast-approaching. It would probably snow soon. She hated the winter. She hated the cold.

"Is that why you haven't been around lately? You knocked up some girl?" Natasha inwardly cringed at the bitterness in her tone. _What the fuck?_ She thought as Clint broke out in nervous laughter. She turned to look at him. He was shaking his head.

"No. No that's not it. This is - we were -" he sighed and patted the space beside him. "Sit down, Nat."

_Nat._ He only used that whenever it was something serious. She sat down hesitantly, a foot away from him.

"What do you remember of our mission in Russia?"

"Why? You going to give me shit for fucking it up?" _Defense mechanism_. Clint knew it too.

He stared at her. "You know as well as I do that a newbie could've made that shot. So technically, I _should _be giving you hell for what happened. But I won't. Because something distracted you and I'm pretty fucking sure that that something was a trigger."

_Trigger? _

"Well your in luck, _Barton_ because that concussion left me with little to go on with."

His expresson turned worried. "You weren't concussed, Tash. I caught you before you hit the floor."

Natasha clenched her fists as she pulled out the scene in her head. She had been following the target. Up the stairs. Up to the fourth floor. He didn't even notice her presence. Her gun had been in her grip, cocked and ready. A shot to the head and it would have been over. But then someone had called out to her.

"There was a woman."

He confirmed this with a nod. "What did she say to you?"

She shook her head. "I can't remember."

"_Try_ to remember."

Natasha looked up at him, the suspicion clear across her face. "You _know _something." She said accusingly. "You've barely been around this entire week. What are you hiding, Clint? What aren't you telling _me?_"

He sighed. "I wanted to tell you, Nat. But we needed all the facts first. It's not that simple."

"Then make it _simple_." She demanded through clenched teeth. She was getting frustrated. Both Natasha and Clint shared a few things in common as assasins. One of those things was a photographic memory. So the fact that she couldn't recall a number of things without the presence of a concussion was eating her alive. The last time something like this had happened was when she was still under the command of the Red Room - when they used every single brainwashing technique they possessed in order to make her forget.

Almost as if he could read her mind, Clint spoke. "The Red Room made you forget things, the life you had before you were taken." He watched her carefully before continuing. "You've told me about the fire - how it burned down your house along with your parents. But that's it, isn't it? That's all you can remember."

Natasha swallowed thickly. She could almost feel the flames licking at her skin.

"Your parents used to call you by a different name. Just like that woman during our mission did - and _that_ was your trigger." Clint surmised. "The second she said Anas-"

_"-tasia!"_

_Natasha skidded to a stop as her gaze latched onto an elderly woman a few feet away from her. Her mouth was parted slightly and she was staring at Natasha as if she had seen a ghost. What did she call her? Anna? What was it? Something was tickling her brain. Like an itch that needed to be scratched. That name - why was it so familiar? Natasha was pulled from her thoughts when movement from behind her caught her attention._

_Rasputin. Shit! _

_She turned to deliver a blow but it was too late, she felt the tip of a ragged-edged blade pierce her skin and go all the way through. She gasped as pain exploded throughout her lower back. She lurched forward just as she heard the whistle of an arrow whipping past her. She tried to grab hold of the wall for support, but it was not within her reach. She vaguely noticed a painting hanging on the wall. A small girl was sitting daintily in the middle with what looked to be the woman from the stairs sitting behind her. Both were smiling. Both had green eyes. _

_Green eyes. Like hers._

_Strong arms caught her just as her knees began to buckle. Somewhere in the back of her mind, a woman began to sing._

_Someone holds me safe and warm,_

_horses prance through a silver storm,_

_Figures dancing gracefully,_

_across my memory_

"Tash? You okay?"

She blinked dazedly. Clint was looking at her curiously.

"That woman," she whispered. "What was her name?"

He hesitated. "Marie."

Natasha inhaled deeply. Her head was beginning to throb. The room suddenly felt too small. She was starting to have trouble breathing. Was this how a panic attack felt like? She wondered briefly. Nonsense. The Black Widow never panicked. Nevertheless, she felt her eyes flutter shut. She could hear Clint anxiously calling to her in the background. But it was steadily becoming more and more distant. She was being pulled into that dream again - the one with all the flames.

A nightmare.

_The fire spread rapidly, devouring everything in its path. Black smoke filled the air making it difficult to see. Unbearable heat pulsated around her shaking frame. Her cheeks were wet with tears. People were running all around, trying to find a way out, yet she remained rooted on the spot. She screamed for both her mother and her father. Where were they? They weren't safe here anymore. They needed to escape! She choked on the smoke that began to envelop her._

_"Anastasia!"_

_A young boy about her age pushed through the grey and tugged frantically at her arm. "We need to leave! Follow me!"_

_"But Mama!"_

_He shook his head fervently, blue eyes bright with terror. "There's no time! If you stay here, you will die!"_

_The thought of death prompted her to begin running. She followed the young boy as quickly as her small legs would allow. They dodged both fallen and falling debris. His brown hair was covered in ash. He led her to a small hallway near the kitchens. It was a passageway for the servants. He kicked open a small panel by the bottom of the left wall. "It's a tunnel." He whispered urgently in her ear. "It will lead us outside." _

_She peered into the panel. It was pitch black. An explosion reverberated from somewhere inside the palace and the two children dove into the darkness. _

Ice-cold water splashed across her face, waking her. Her hands automatically attached themselves to her twin daggers.

"_Dmitri?_"

Grey eyes met her instead of blue.

"Woah, easy there tiger. It's just Clint, Tash. You're okay."

Natasha accepted the towel from her partner to dry her face. Normally, she'd punch him in the gut for even using that technique to wake her. But her thoughts were confusing enough to leave her completely occupied. She vaguely noticed that her hands were trembling.

"I don't understand." She murmured.

"I think you do," Clint replied softly. "You're the missing Tsarina, Tash. The woman during our mission? She's your grandmother."

And suddenly, everything began to make sense.

She had been wrong. That was no nightmare. That was a memory.

* * *

A/N: I'm thinking one more chapter after this, unless there'd be preference for a continuation. Please review! :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Part 3**

Natasha became a recluse during the next few days. No one saw or heard from her. And although they would not openly admit to anything, it was evident that the team was growing worried. Breakfast was usually a rather loud affair, but today, everyone seemed a bit subdued. It had been three days since they had seen their favorite red-haired assassin.

"You don't think she slipped out of the Tower when we weren't looking, do you?" Bruce voiced out as he slowly stirred his cup of lemon tea.

"No." Tony and Clint responded simultaneously. They glanced at each other.

"She wouldn't leave without telling me." Clint stated firmly.

"I may or may not have asked JARVIS to keep an eye on her." Tony mentioned casually to no one's surprise. Tony may act like he didn't care, but they all knew the truth. "How's she doing, J?"

"_Agent Romanoff's vitals are all within normal range. She is currently in her bedroom._"

"Although I suspect she has been hoarding food from the kitchen." Tony pointed out. "And my bar is suspiciously missing three bottles of my best Russian vodka."

"Maybe we should check up on her," Steve suggested.

Clint shook his head. "Not unless you have a death wish. Trust me on this one, when the Black Widow wants to be alone, it's best that we leave her alone. She'll come out when she's ready. It _is _kind of a lot to take in."

Tony snorted. "No shit, Sherlock. She's fucking royalty!"

"It appears that the Widow and I now share something in common." Thor said, beaming through a mouthful of bacon.

"You mean aside from sharing the same love for hair care products?" Tony asked with a grin.

"Tis nothing to be embarrassed about! The conditioner of hair has made my blonde locks ultimately softer!" Thor exclaimed. The team burst out laughing. His brows then furrowed. "I am curious, though. What are the duties of an Empress? Are they similar to that of a Prince?"

"I'm not really sure," Bruce replied thoughtfully. "Monarchy doesn't really exist in Russia anymore."

"_I apologize for the interruption but it appears that Miss Romanoff is packing her things._"

JARVIS was met with no response.

Tony cleared his throat. "Well, looks like the Princess has made a decision."

"It doesn't matter what her decision is," Steve put in. "All that matters is that Natasha has found her real family and we _will _support what ever choice she makes."

_Her real family._

For some reason, those three simple words hit Clint like a shot to the heart.

* * *

That afternoon, Clint decided that he had enough of waiting. If she was planning to disappear on them without a moment's notice, Clint wasn't going to let her get away with it. He cracked his neck and stretched his fingers before raising a fist to knock. It froze mid-air as a peculiar sound echoed from inside.

_"Far away, long ago_

_things I yearn to remember."_

Clint felt his jaw go slack. She was _singing._ The Black Widow was singing. And _damn_, did she have a fucking sweet voice. He almost forgot what he came here for. He tilted his head to the side as he listened. The song was a familiar one. Clint knew for certain that this was not a song he had heard from any of his teammates, with Tony's preference for hard rock, Steve's affinity for the blues and Bruce's love for classical music.

The song belonged to none of those categories. No, this one was slow and lilting - like a lullaby.

A lullaby.

The musicbox in Marie's sitting room.

_"And a song someone sings_

_Once upon a December."_

There was no doubting that this was the real Anastasia Romanov. They didn't need a DNA test to prove it.

"If you're done hovering by the door, Barton."

_Goddamnit, JARVIS._

Clint cleared his throat and stepped inside. Two of SHIELD's standard suitcases stood at the foot of her bed. Knowing Natasha, one would be holding several articles of neatly-pressed clothing while the other would contain several pieces of weaponry.

_You can take the Tsarina out of the assassin but you can't take the assassin out of the Tsarina._ Clint thought with a bit of amusement. Natasha was already dressed in a pair of jeans and her favorite leather jacket.

"I was just about to come to you," she said.

Clint felt momentarily relieved. _See, she would never leave without telling you._ "Thought you could use a hand with the packing," he gestured towards her bags . "But I guess you're all done."

"You think this is a bad idea."

Clint shot her a look. "What makes you think that?"

"You have that look."

"Look? What - I don't have a look!" He protested, offended.

"Yes you do," Natasha said, eyes narrowed. "You're looking at me like I just kicked your puppy."

"First of all, I would never_ ever_ own a puppy. And second of all, maybe I'm -" Clint paused, wondering if it was a good idea to say it. But then he thought, _fuck it she might never come back._ "- maybe I'm just going to miss you, is all."

Natasha stared at him. Something was flickering in those green depths.

"And for the record, I think this is something you _should_ do. I think you'll regret it if you _didn't_ go."

Natasha nodded once. "You're right."

"That I'm going to miss you?" He asked with a shit-eating grin.

Clint knew that there could only be two answers to that question. She was either going make some snarky comeback or he would be graced with the infamous Black Widow Eye Roll.

Instead, he felt two arms wrap around his waist in a tight hug.

Hmm, good answer.

* * *

The team (plus Pepper) were waiting for her in the living room. All of them were wearing similar expressions of glumness. Well _almost _all of them. Tony was practically bouncing on the balls of his feet, shivering with unmasked excitement. Natasha arched an eyebrow at him. "Eager to see me leave, Stark?"

"I'm thinking field trip to Russia," was Tony's reply. He clapped his hands together with a wide grin. "What do you say, team?"

Pepper stared at him with wide eyes. She shot Natasha an apologetic look. "He doesn't mean that. You _don't_ mean that, Tony."

Tony sighed and rolled his eyes. "You _will_ have to introduce us to your grandmother, sooner or later, you know. We _are _Earth's Mightiest Heroes after all and Thor here, Thor outranks you. He's a Prince. From another realm. He should meet the Midgardian Queen or whatever."

"She's an Empress, Tony." Bruce stated with some amusement.

"We will miss you, Lady Natasha." Thor exclaimed, sweeping her into a bone-crushing hug. She stiffened at first, not quite used to having anyone other than Clint wrapping themselves around her. But Thor's brightness was infectious and she found herself relaxing sooner rather than later. She received the next set of arms readily - it was Bruce's.

"If you need anything, you know where to find us." The doctor murmured softly.

"You'll come visit us, right?" Steve asked hopefully as he took his turn. Natasha felt her heart twitch. Who could resist those big blue eyes? They were worse then Clint's kicked-puppy face.

"I'm sure she will," Pepper said with a smile, hugging her warmly.

Tony did not hug her but he did wrap an arm around her shoulder as he led her outside towards the Tower's helipad where Clint was waiting with the quinjet. He handed her a clear glass rectangle. "This is a _Starkphone_. It has JARVIS and all of our contact numbers just in case. Yep, even Fury's. So don't lose it. You're the only one aside from Pepper and Rhodey who has one. Okay? Okay. And don't tell Clint or he'll keep bugging me for one too. Hell he might even shoot me-" Stark continued to ramble all the way to the quinjet.

Natasha couldn't help it, she smiled.

* * *

The flight to Russia was mostly quiet. The silence was only briefly interrupted by a brief call from Fury who wanted to discuss Natasha's 'vacation'. Clint didn't need to listen in to know what they were talking about. Fury had already pulled him aside the day the DNA test came back positive.

Fury may seem like an asshole on some days (okay, on _most _days) but the two agents knew that he only had their best interests at heart. Which was why, he 'neglected' to tell the Council of Romanoff's true identity.

What the Council doesn't know won't kill them.

As they neared the Russian border, Clint stole a glance at his partner. A normal person might not see it, but he could tell, from the firm set of her jaw, that she was nervous.

"Do you want me to come with you?" He asked, squashing the hope that was building inside of him. He hated it. Hated how it had been building since - Budapest.

"I need to do this on my own."

He nodded. He expected as much. Even as he swallowed the last of that fucked up feeling.

They finally touched ground a half hour later.

"Well, this is it." Natasha said as she prepared to disembark. Her green eyes were flickering with something unreadable. "Wish me luck."

Clint opened his mouth to ask - _are you coming back? _

Instead, what came out was: "Good luck."

Because Clint was a patient man. And he'll wait for her no matter how long it takes.

* * *

_Three weeks later..._

It was midnight and Clint was leaning against the balcony railing of Stark Tower, watching the lights of Manhattan glow brightly in the distance. The sound of approaching footsteps reached his ears. "Couldn't sleep, Captain?"

"Sleep has never come easy to me," Steve replied with a shrug. He was holding two beer bottles. He handed one to Clint. It was perfectly cold. Just the way he liked it.

"I thought you can't get drunk," Clint commented with an arched eyebrow. He twisted off the cap and took a swig. The alcohol went down his throat smoothly. Ah, the benefits of living with a billionaire.

"Maybe I just like the taste," Steve said as he leaned beside the archer. "So, you think Natasha's okay?"

"She's fine."

Steve Rogers, the Star Spangled Man with a Plan, was so startled that he actually dropped his beer bottle. It landed on the floor with a crash. He looked at it sheepishly. "Sorry, I didn't see you there."

"Most people never do," Natasha stated primly, her lips twitching.

"Wow. You're back! This is - I mean - uh, I'll leave you two alone now." Steve said, hurriedly rushing into the penthouse. The two assassins watched with some amusement as he tried to wave off the other three members of the Avengers who had apparently heard the crash. Bruce and Tony were both covered in oil smears while Thor looked somewhere between being disgruntled at having been awakened and ecstatic at the sight of Natasha. Steve tried to lead them out of the room in order to give them some privacy but Tony was adamant. He settled onto the couch with arms crossed and turned on the television. Steve sighed, and after receiving a nod from Natasha, joined him. The other two wandered slowly into the living room after him.

Clint didn't mind. They wouldn't be able to hear their conversation from inside, anyway, thanks to Stark's soundproofed glass windows.

"So," Clint began, taking another sip from his drink. "You're back."

Natasha had taken up Steve's recently vacated place beside him, but facing inwards. Her elbows were propped on the railing on either side of her as she leaned backward. "Don't tell me you weren't expecting this."

Clint smirked. "Maybe I was. I knew you couldn't stay away from me."

Natasha rolled her eyes.

"How was it?"

She breathed deeply as a wistful expression came to rest across her face. "She was exactly as I remembered her to be."

"Did you tell her?"

"About the Red Room?" Natasha grimaced. "No. She already blames herself enough for losing me in the first place. She doesn't need the added nightmares. She understands though."

Clint nodded, knowing fully what she meant. They had discussed it on the way to Russia. It was something that Nick Fury had been obstinate about: As far as everyone was concerned, Anastasia Romanov was dead. Only the Dowager Empress was privy to this vital piece of information. Not even her 'cousins' were allowed to know that she was alive.

"She was disappointed that I couldn't stay," Natasha recalled fondly. "But she knows that it's for her own good. She made me promise to come visit her as soon as I was free."

"You should," Clint agreed. "She's the only family you've got."

She fell silent after that.

Clint noticed that Natasha was observing the team within. Tony was repeatedly poking Bruce in the side while the scientist batted his hand away with some annoyance. It was obvious that Steve was telling him off, the irritation clear on the Captain's face. Thor was lying down on the recliner, his eyelids fluttering closed as he tried to resume his slumber.

"She isn't."

"She isn't what?" Clint asked, confused.

"She isn't the only family I have." Natasha clarified, green eyes sparkling.

Clint once again felt two arms wrap around his waist just as like they had three weeks before and _that_ feeling resurfaced from his chest. The inextinguishable hope - for something more.

And it seemed that his patience had paid off this time, as a pair of soft lips pressed against his, consuming him with pure unadulterated bliss.

"I've got one right here."

Good answer.

* * *

_And a song someone sings_

_Once upon a December._

* * *

**Fin**

****A/N: And we have reached the end. A review would be nice! :)


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